Curves Envy 2 - Curvy Girls Do It Better: BBW Billionaire Romance Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Scarlett Avery
friends over, I can never convince my guests to go home. They want to camp at my door until Marcello returns the next day so they can beg him to prepare a new batch.”
“I thought dinner sounded over-the-top delicious, but your description of this spinach dip is beyond insane.”
“Should I call the paramedics right now before telling you about dessert?” he mocks.
“If it involves chocolate, you might as well call the cardiac surgery division at Mount Sinai Beth right now,” I say dramatically. Anyone who knows me knows I’m a self-confessed chocoholic.
“I’ve spent quite some time reading your articles and I’m quite aware of your love of chocolate, which is why I asked Marcello to prepare his mouthwatering melting cakes. He’s asked me to warm them up and top them with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and drizzle with a swirl of caramel sauce before serving them.” Max narrows his eyes, awaiting my reaction.
“Call 911 immediately.”
We both laugh.
“Seriously, Max, this whole menu sounds like a special feature from one of my favorite food-porn magazines.”
“Food porn?”
“Cooking magazines. People like myself who can’t cook to save their lives can still dream of impressing friends and family—that’s why I keep renewing my subscription every year.”
“I did good then by requesting the little cakes?”
“You did great.”
“If you want to sit at the table for dinner, I’ll bring the food over and we can dig in. It’s very informal and I hope you’re okay with things being so low-key.”
My God, I never go to this length for my friends even for special occasions. We have a different definition of informal.
Chapter 3
Dinner is the second orgasmic experience Max has gifted me with in the last forty-eight hours. Every bite of the juicy brisket of beef is divine and I’ll admit this meal might have changed my negative perception of heirloom carrots forever.
I expect dessert to be decadent, but the first bite sends my body into shock. The combination of warm chocolate cake, cold vanilla ice cream and sweet caramel sauce is truly a dessert food-porn dreams are made of. I’ve yet to enjoy a five-star meal at an upscale restaurant in New York or anywhere else in the world, but I’m certain this unforgettable meal rivals any one of them.
“I totally understand where your friends are coming from. I think I’m also going to have to start camping at your door and begging your chef to feed me.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed the meal. I’ll be sure to let Marcello know his efforts didn’t go unnoticed. Why don’t we retreat to the couch? It will be far more enjoyable than these chairs. I’ll put on some music and we can finish our espressos while overlooking the view.”
“I love the way you think,” I say, extracting my body from the dining chair. Max must notice my struggle since he rushes to my side.
Perhaps the second bottle of champagne was overkill.
“Those darn high heels of yours,” he mocks, dropping his eyes to my feet.
“Right. The worst part is I’m addicted to them.” I’ll take any excuse in the book if it means feeling his hands wrapped around mine.
The plush dark grey L-shaped couch is conveniently located close to the window, allowing us to peek outside. Although Central Park is pitch black at this time of the night, New York never sleeps and the bright lights from the surrounding buildings illuminate the skyline. I’m so drunk with good food and tipsy from the bottles of Dom Pérignon, I kick off my high heels and stretch my legs out in front of me as I sink comfortably into the couch to rest my head.
“Who is singing?” I’m not a big music aficionado like Lexi, but I swear I’ve heard this song before.
“It’s Damn Your Eyes by British singer-songwriter Alex Clare. This album is a few years old, but his music is timeless.”
“I’m sure my girlfriend Lexi must own this album. She’s really into music.”
“And you?”
“I
“I thought dinner sounded over-the-top delicious, but your description of this spinach dip is beyond insane.”
“Should I call the paramedics right now before telling you about dessert?” he mocks.
“If it involves chocolate, you might as well call the cardiac surgery division at Mount Sinai Beth right now,” I say dramatically. Anyone who knows me knows I’m a self-confessed chocoholic.
“I’ve spent quite some time reading your articles and I’m quite aware of your love of chocolate, which is why I asked Marcello to prepare his mouthwatering melting cakes. He’s asked me to warm them up and top them with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and drizzle with a swirl of caramel sauce before serving them.” Max narrows his eyes, awaiting my reaction.
“Call 911 immediately.”
We both laugh.
“Seriously, Max, this whole menu sounds like a special feature from one of my favorite food-porn magazines.”
“Food porn?”
“Cooking magazines. People like myself who can’t cook to save their lives can still dream of impressing friends and family—that’s why I keep renewing my subscription every year.”
“I did good then by requesting the little cakes?”
“You did great.”
“If you want to sit at the table for dinner, I’ll bring the food over and we can dig in. It’s very informal and I hope you’re okay with things being so low-key.”
My God, I never go to this length for my friends even for special occasions. We have a different definition of informal.
Chapter 3
Dinner is the second orgasmic experience Max has gifted me with in the last forty-eight hours. Every bite of the juicy brisket of beef is divine and I’ll admit this meal might have changed my negative perception of heirloom carrots forever.
I expect dessert to be decadent, but the first bite sends my body into shock. The combination of warm chocolate cake, cold vanilla ice cream and sweet caramel sauce is truly a dessert food-porn dreams are made of. I’ve yet to enjoy a five-star meal at an upscale restaurant in New York or anywhere else in the world, but I’m certain this unforgettable meal rivals any one of them.
“I totally understand where your friends are coming from. I think I’m also going to have to start camping at your door and begging your chef to feed me.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed the meal. I’ll be sure to let Marcello know his efforts didn’t go unnoticed. Why don’t we retreat to the couch? It will be far more enjoyable than these chairs. I’ll put on some music and we can finish our espressos while overlooking the view.”
“I love the way you think,” I say, extracting my body from the dining chair. Max must notice my struggle since he rushes to my side.
Perhaps the second bottle of champagne was overkill.
“Those darn high heels of yours,” he mocks, dropping his eyes to my feet.
“Right. The worst part is I’m addicted to them.” I’ll take any excuse in the book if it means feeling his hands wrapped around mine.
The plush dark grey L-shaped couch is conveniently located close to the window, allowing us to peek outside. Although Central Park is pitch black at this time of the night, New York never sleeps and the bright lights from the surrounding buildings illuminate the skyline. I’m so drunk with good food and tipsy from the bottles of Dom Pérignon, I kick off my high heels and stretch my legs out in front of me as I sink comfortably into the couch to rest my head.
“Who is singing?” I’m not a big music aficionado like Lexi, but I swear I’ve heard this song before.
“It’s Damn Your Eyes by British singer-songwriter Alex Clare. This album is a few years old, but his music is timeless.”
“I’m sure my girlfriend Lexi must own this album. She’s really into music.”
“And you?”
“I